Gospel Story Finder

Years ago when I first received an appointment that resulted in my picture being in the newspapers, one of my high school teachers, evidently quite astonished, was heard to say, “That just proves that you can’t tell by looking at a frog how high he is going to jump!”
The image of that frog, sitting in the mud instead of jumping, illustrates how inadequate I have felt when facing the responsibilities that have come to me.
These feelings fix it so that thereafter one can never feel superior to anyone, not anyone.
For a long time, something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.
To my great surprise, I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
A few days later, I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.
President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”
I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.
That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.
It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.
I was perhaps no different from those spoken of in the Book of Mormon: “And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).
Over the years, I have come to see how powerfully important that simple testimony is. I have come to understand that our Heavenly Father is the Father of our spirits (see Numbers 16:22; Hebrews 12:9; D&C 93:29). He is a father with all the tender love of a father. Jesus said, “For the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God” (John 16:27).
Some years ago, I was with President Marion G. Romney, meeting with mission presidents and their wives in Geneva, Switzerland. He told them that 50 years before, as a missionary boy in Australia, late one afternoon he had gone to a library to study. When he walked out, it was night. He looked up into the starry sky, and it happened. The Spirit touched him, and a certain witness was born in his soul.
He told those mission presidents that he did not know any more surely then as a member of the First Presidency that God the Father lives; that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father; and that the fulness of the gospel had been restored than he did as a missionary boy 50 years before in Australia. He said that his testimony had changed in that it was much easier to get an answer from the Lord. The Lord’s presence was nearer, and he knew the Lord much better than he had 50 years before.
There is the natural tendency to look at those who are sustained to presiding positions, to consider them to be higher and of more value in the Church or to their families than an ordinary member. Somehow we feel they are worth more to the Lord than are we. It just does not work that way!
It would be very disappointing to my wife and to me if we supposed any one of our children would think that we think we are of more worth to the family or to the Church than they are, or to think that one calling in the Church was esteemed over another or that any calling would be thought to be less important.
Recently, one of our sons was sustained as ward mission leader. His wife told us how thrilled he was with the call. It fits the very heavy demands of his work. He has the missionary spirit and will find good use for his Spanish, which he has kept polished from his missionary days. We also were very, very pleased at his call.
What my son and his wife are doing with their little children transcends anything they could do in the Church or out. No service could be more important to the Lord than the devotion they give to one another and to their little children. And so it is with all our other children. The ultimate end of all activity in the Church centers in the home and the family.
As General Authorities of the Church, we are just the same as you are, and you are just the same as we are. You have the same access to the powers of revelation for your families and for your work and for your callings as we do.
It is also true that there is an order to things in the Church. When you are called to an office, you then receive revelation that belongs to that office that would not be given to others.
No member of the Church is esteemed by the Lord as more or less than any other. It just does not work that way! Remember, He is a father—our Father. The Lord is “no respecter of persons.”
We are not worth more to the onrolling of the Lord’s work than were Brother and Sister Toutai Paletu‘a in Nuku‘alofa, Tonga; or Brother and Sister Carlos Cifuentes in Santiago, Chile; or Brother and Sister Peter Dalebout in the Netherlands; or Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato of Japan; or hundreds of others I have met while traveling about the world. It just does not work that way.
And so the Church moves on. It is carried upon the shoulders of worthy members living ordinary lives among ordinary families, guided by the Holy Ghost and the Light of Christ, which is in them.
I bear witness that the gospel is true and that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God—every soul—and that we are blessed to be members of the Church. I have the witness that would qualify me for the calling I have. I’ve had it since I met the First Presidency those many years ago. I bear it to you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Most of us have memories of perfect days—days that stand apart from the rest because something or someone made them unforgettable. One of mine happened when I was in the fifth grade. On a particularly bleak Saturday morning in January, my father suddenly announced that we were going skiing.
“All of us?” I asked, thinking of my brothers, John and Jim.
“No,” he responded, “just you and I.”
He urged me to finish my breakfast in a hurry as he gathered our equipment together. Half an hour later we were heading up Provo Canyon to the old Timp Haven ski resort. Dad and I spent the entire morning there, perfecting our snowplows and challenging one another to races. Later that day, after thoroughly exhausting ourselves on the slopes, we traveled to my Grandpa Edwards’s warehouse where we helped him and other family members bag potatoes for hauling. Although it was cold outside, dad worked so hard that huge beads of perspiration rolled freely off his forehead. Afterwards, he and I went to a nearby drive-in and had hamburgers, fries, and shakes—just the two of us.

I had just graduated from high school and had just gone to work as a disc jockey at a radio station. As I was making money and gaining valuable experience in broadcasting, the thought of serving a mission was pushed further and further from my mind. After much deliberation I accepted a mission call. I had a great mission and grew to know that some things in life are not as important as we sometimes feel. When I got home, the radio station that I had worked for before my mission called me and asked if I would like to return. I did and had a great opportunity to report on sports, which is what I have always wanted to do.
I tremble when I think of the time that I considered not going on a mission in order to pursue my own goals. I know the Lord will bless you in your life pursuits when you decide to put his work first.
Scott C. Miller, 23Bountiful, Utah

On a different trip, Joe, my third son, got caught in a huge backwash behind a giant boulder. Usually the body is heavy enough that you sink down below the waves and wash, and the current pulls you under the backwash and away from danger. However, in Joe’s case the water washed him into the backwash, which threw him like a top back into the hole. This happened over and over, and we feared for his life, but Joe did not panic. He remembered that Dale had told him he would wash through, and so Joe let himself drop down into the water and eventually washed through.

In stark contrast, I share the example of another young man. Through the years I have watched how his parents have taught him from infancy to unwaveringly live the commandments of God. By example and precept, they nurtured him and their other children in truth. They encouraged the development of discipline and sacrifice to obtain worthy goals. This young man chose swimming as an activity that could instill in his character these qualities. The early-morning practice sessions required discipline and sacrifice. Over time he excelled in that sport.
Then came the challenges—for example, a championship swim meet on Sunday. Would he participate? To help his team win the championship, would he rationalize an exception to his rule of not swimming on Sunday? No, he would not yield, even under intense peer pressure. He was peppered with derisive comments, even physically abused. But he would not yield. The rejection of friends, the loneliness, and the pressure brought times of sadness and tears. But he would not yield. He was learning firsthand what each of us must come to know, the reality of Paul’s counsel to Timothy: “All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution” (2 Tim. 3:12). I have observed how over the years this consistent pattern of righteous living—woven from hundreds of correct decisions, some in the face of great challenge—has developed a character of strength and capacity. Now, as a missionary, he is respected by his peers for his capacity to work, his knowledge of truth, his unwavering devotion, and his determination to share the gospel. One who earlier was rejected by his peers now has become a leader of his peers.

The Fowkes family had been having emergency drills during family home evenings for several years. This training helped them instinctively do the right things when the quake hit. Nathan, 13, who was studying in the library, immediately dove under a table that protected him from being hit by a tall cabinet of books. His younger brother and sister ducked under the kitchen table at home and missed being hit by falling china. just three weeks before the quake, Sister Fowkes had shown her son Kendall, 9, how to turn off the gas, electricity, and water in the house, so he could earn a Cub Scout achievement. This knowledge saved the family from a flooded basement, since the quake caused a water pipe to break.
Ten years earlier the Fowkes had made some other preparations. Following two consecutive dreams about being in an earthquake, Sister Fowkes insisted that her husband string wire in front of the shelves in their fruit room before they left on vacation. Eventually their foresight paid off. While they had over 200 bottles stacked seven shelves high, none were broken.

“When Robert Reeve, one of my ancestors, and Alexander Wright went to general conference in 1862, they heard their names read out to go to the Cotton Mission in southern Utah. They went and stayed thirty years,” Elder Rex C. Reeve said, adding, “Later my grandfather, William Arthur Reeve, and my father, Arthur Reeve, moved north to Hinckley, Utah, to operate a farm owned by one of the Apostles. In a few years they got their own farms, and so I was born in Hinckley.
“I enjoyed Hinckley a great deal. The people there were faithful and devoted.” Elder Reeve chuckled and added, “Anyone who can survive down there can survive anywhere, because there are rattlesnakes, sagebrush, greasewood, alkali, wind, heat, and very little moisture.
“My father was a big man, six feet four inches tall. He was probably as fine an athlete as any in the state. He could run, pole-vault, and throw the discus. He played on the team that won the first Church M-Men basketball championship. He was also on the all-state basketball team. He might have had a promising athletic career, but his dad died, and as the oldest of eleven children, he had to leave school to help raise his brothers and sisters. Dad was a great soul, very generous, and he worked in the Scouting program for forty years.
“My mother was only five feet two inches tall. A very capable individual, she had been a schoolteacher before I was born, and she was an elocutionist (one who excels in public speaking). Before I started school, she taught me all the things that are taught in the first, second, and third grades. When my two brothers and two sisters came along, she didn’t have as much time to spend teaching me, and then I was just ordinary in school.
“During the Depression, my grandfather came to live with us. He had crossed the plains eighteen times, bringing people to Utah from Missouri. He would get an assignment to do this just as you might be assigned to work on the welfare farm. I sat at his feet and listened to his stories about hauling rocks for the temple, crossing the plains, and hunting bears. He was a good hunter—he had to be to survive.
“This grandfather was a stake clerk, and he would go around the stake to audit the books. He would travel in a horse and buggy maybe forty miles to a town where a ward was, audit the books, stay overnight, then go twenty-five miles to another town. One time when he was in Oak City, he had a feeling that he should return home that night. He hitched up his horse and buggy and drove twenty-six miles to his home, getting there just as the sun was coming up. He hurried into the house and asked his wife what was wrong. She told him that their youngest daughter was near death. He blessed the little girl, and she was made well.
“My mother’s mother really made an impression on me. When I was nine, she had a stroke and could no longer speak. I remember her lying on a bed in my aunt’s home. The doctor thought that she should have a stimulant, so he had some coffee prepared to give to her. She had never drunk coffee, and I can still see the fire in her eyes as she let the doctor know that she wasn’t going to drink any then, either! He got the message, and she didn’t get the coffee.
“My other grandmother, my dad’s mother, was a visiting teacher to a family during a flu epidemic after World War I. The whole family was sick with the flu; three of them had already died. My grandmother went into their home and took care of them and even dressed the bodies of the dead members in preparation for their funeral. I have always been impressed with what a faithful visiting teacher she was.
“I myself came down with smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. I was isolated in the granary, which had a stove. Pillows were tied on my hands so that I couldn’t scratch the big pox that covered my body. The Lord blessed me so that today I don’t have any pockmarks. I also had diphtheria, another deadly disease, and the Lord spared my life then too.
“I loved school and had some wonderful teachers. One of them was ElRay L. Christiansen, who later became a General Authority. He would tell us about different pieces of music and make them live for us. I still have a great love for opera and classical music.”
Elder Reeve believes that children must be acquainted with Heavenly Father. If He is the center of their lives and they love Him and talk with Him, then He can take them through any trial or problem. It might not all be pleasant, but they can survive.
“God is real. He lives, and He loves you. He loves every child; He doesn’t have favorites. He is as close to you as you will let Him be by how you live, how you mind your parents, and how you keep His commandments.”

The Book of Mormon was not the only holy writ that Emma protected; she also secured the manuscript of Joseph’s inspired Bible translation. The Smiths moved to Missouri in 1838, intending to publish the revisions, but trouble mounted and Joseph was imprisoned. A friend, Ann Scott, sewed two cotton bags attached to a waistband to hide the papers under a skirt.11 Emma carried her two infants with two other young children clinging to her skirts, loaded with precious papers underneath, as they walked across the frozen Mississippi River to safety in Illinois.12

Since being baptised in 2016, I have always enjoyed being around missionaries, and I hoped I could be a missionary someday. Because of the mental health challenges I face, I thought that a proselytising mission would be out of reach; I would never realise my desire to serve like the missionaries who had been such a big part of my conversion.
So, I am grateful to Bishop Gerwin Rudloff for introducing me to service missions, and to Elder and Sister Bettridge, the service mission leaders, who let me know that this was something I could do.
Having the opportunity to serve a mission is incredible. I struggle with my mental health but having the opportunity to serve my Heavenly Father and Saviour while being at home means I am surrounded by support, from service mission leaders, my bishop, my stake president, members of my ward and my mother. Having them around me makes me confident that I can be a successful service missionary.
I chose to serve because I wanted to build my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my Saviour, and to take time to focus on who I am, and the plans God has for me. I have learned to take things one day at a time. Each day I ask myself, “What can I do today that will help someone?” I am truly blessed to be paving a way for future service missionaries. I want to demonstrate that we can serve even on days that might seem hard; I know this because I do it every day.

After they reached Clay County, Missouri, news arrived that a mob of nearly four hundred men were preparing to destroy them. When Joseph heard the news, he knelt beneath the clear blue summer sky and prayed for divine protection.

Not far off, gunfire sounded. The men of Zion’s Camp wanted to fight, but Joseph counseled them to wait and see what God would do.

Suddenly a small black cloud appeared in the west. It moved eastward, growing bigger as it moved, until it filled the heavens with darkness. The first ferryboat of mobbers had crossed the Missouri River south of Zion’s Camp and was returning for another load, when a violent burst of wind hit the boat. Rain poured and the wind soared so hard that the members of Zion’s Camp ran from their tents and found shelter in an old Baptist meetinghouse nearby. Safely inside, Joseph told them that God was in that storm.

The horizon filled with the snaking of lightning bolts—not one after another, but atop and beside each other so that the sky was continually lit, and the thunder roared without stopping. Large hailstones broke branches from trees and destroyed crops. Torrents of rain soaked the mobbers’ ammunition and made it useless. The sights and sounds of the storm frightened the mobbers’ horses away, leaving the mobbers to find their way home, wet, horseless, and frightened.

The next morning, Fishing River, which had been only ankle deep, was more than forty feet (12.2 m) deep. One of the mobbers told Joseph Smith that he knew that God was protecting the Mormons.

A few years later, when I was director of budget at another Air Force Base, Colonel Rothman, the Deputy Commander, called me into his office one day to discuss budget matters. In military style, I formally reported to his office with a salute. "Captain Russell, reporting as ordered sir. "He invited me to be seated. "Captain, may I get you a cup of coffee?" "No, thank you, Sir" I replied. "How about a cup of tea?" "No, Sir, I don't drink tea." "Well, Captain, it's only ten in the morning and I am not going to offer you a beer!" I smiled and said, "No, Sir, I don't drink beer either." Colonel Rothman was wearing these funny-looking half-frame reading glasses. He tipped his head down, looked above his lenses, and in an artificially gruff voice said, "Are you a Mormon?" I swallowed hard and said, "Yes, sir." He broke into a smile, stood up, stretched forth his hand to shake mine and said, "Good for you, Captain. I have never met a Mormon that wasn't a fine officer."

These experiences and many others manifested to me that Latter-day Saints, with their standards, maintain a separate identity when we are out in the world. I have consistently found that the Word of Wisdom is a behavioral emblem, an identifying mark, that facilitates our being identified as people with very high standards. The Word of Wisdom is a badge of separateness that sets us apart from the world.

If you feel burdened or unsure about your responsibilities at home, the Lord can bless you to know what to do. At one particularly stressful time in my life, I felt like the daily load was more than I could bear. One night I had a dream—I saw myself placing a large bundle at the feet of each of my children. When I woke the next morning, I realized my children were responsible for their agency, not me, and that it was good for them to share in the work of our home. But I still had a very large bundle and wondered how I could manage it. Amazingly, the next night I had another dream, and this time I saw myself placing my bundle at the feet of the Savior. How I love Him. I’m thankful for the opportunities I’ve had over the years to draw closer to the Savior as a result of working, learning, and growing in my home.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”

In the early days of the Lord’s Church, leaders close to the Prophet Joseph Smith began to speak of his faults. Even with all they had seen and knew of his standing with the Lord, their spirit of criticism and jealousy spread like a plague. One of the Twelve set for us all the standard of faith and loyalty we must have if we are to serve in the Lord’s kingdom.

Here is the report: “Several elders called a meeting in the temple for all those who considered Joseph Smith to be a fallen Prophet. They intended to appoint David Whitmer as the new Church leader. … After listening to the arguments against the Prophet, Brigham [Young] arose and testified, ‘Joseph was a Prophet, and I knew it, and that they might rail and slander him as much as they pleased; they could not destroy the appointment of the Prophet of God, they could only destroy their own authority, cut the thread that bound them to the Prophet and to God, and sink themselves to hell’” (Church History in the Fulness of Times Student Manual [Church Educational System manual, 2003], 2nd ed., 174; see also Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Brigham Young [1997], 79).

As the father of seven sons, I have always wanted them to love, honor, and respect their mother. As the older ones have gone through their teen years and beyond, it has been gratifying to watch them do special things for their mother.
My wife, Nicki, loves flowers. Over the years, it has not been uncommon for one of the boys to bring his mother a special bouquet of a dozen roses. These floral gifts haven’t necessarily come on Mother’s Day, her birthday, or some other special occasion, although they have come then too. More often than not, these timely gifts come spontaneously and unexpectedly just to say, “Thanks, Mom, for everything you do and for putting up with me.”
Such was the case when Jarom, our mission-bound son, surprised his mother. Over the years Jarom had found words and gestures of love and appreciation difficult to come by. He was a big, handsome, muscular young man who could bench-press 300 pounds but still struggled to refine the delicate art of telling his mother he loved her.
Of course, Nicki knew Jarom loved her, and she had accepted the fact that he would probably communicate his love and appreciation to her in other ways not associated with flowers, cards, or even spoken words.
But one afternoon he walked into the house and handed her a bouquet of yellow long-stemmed roses. Somewhat taken aback, Nicki caught her breath and exclaimed, “Jarom, how beautiful!” She instinctively breathed in their rich fragrance. “I love them. One dozen yellow roses!”
Jarom shrugged sheepishly and shook his head. “Actually, there are only 11,” he confessed. He cleared his throat and smiled bashfully. “I gave one of them away.”
He paused and then explained. “I picked up the roses and was on my way home when I passed this girl from our neighborhood. She was about nine or ten, just kind of dragging down the sidewalk, looking really sad.” He shrugged and grinned. “So I figured, why not. I stopped, took a rose from your bouquet and handed it to her. I told her to have a great day.”
“What did she do?” Nicki asked, curious.
Jarom laughed. “Well, she wasn’t sad anymore.” He took a deep breath and added, “So that’s why you’ve only got 11 roses.”
Nicki smiled for a moment and tried to picture in her mind that girl walking down the street, discouraged and perhaps crushed by some adolescent tragedy. In the midst of her sorrow she looks up and sees this big, handsome neighbor approach her with a single yellow rose, perhaps the first she has ever received in her life. He smiles at her, hands her the rose, and tells her to have a great day. She is probably flattered beyond words, and suddenly her gray day is brightened by the unexpected light from Jarom’s yellow rose.

So, let’s say that you’ve studied things out! You have dated various people, and you’ve found someone who seems to have many of the qualities you are looking for.

That’s an important one, for real! You both need to genuinely like each other!

It’s great! You have identified someone who “could” work. But you understand the eternal nature of the commitment. It can all feel a little bit overwhelming.

I can remember these feelings like it was yesterday. Kels and I had been dating for a few months. I knew she was special. But I felt overwhelmed. I felt like I had too many decisions to make at once. I was planning on transferring schools and moving. We had talked about breaking things off soon. Then, Kels wrote me this note. It’s become my most prized possession. It was written with the context that our relationship was probably coming to an end. She said a lot of nice things. The thing that stood out was that she said she could see how the gospel brought joy into my life, and she wanted a life built on that. She didn’t ask me to marry her, but I knew how she felt.

It was a wake-up call for me. This letter gave me enough information to take this decision to the Lord for an answer.

I remember the first time I swore. I was repeating a joke to some of my friends, and they all thought it was funny. It wasn’t like I was actually swearing, I thought. “I didn’t think you cussed,” one of my friends laughed. And I didn’t. At least not before then and, after that, not a lot. Not at first anyway.
Less than a year later, I was up there with the best of them—trading cutting remarks, swearing for effect, because people thought it was funny and acceptable, and hating myself more each time I did it. I knew it was wrong, but by that time it was a part of my speech pattern. My language got worse, and along with it went my character. I was in trouble at school and, although I still attended church most of the time, I stopped taking the sacrament.
I remember, too, the first time I tried to quit. A boy I liked at school told me he thought swear words were unladylike. So I promised myself I’d stop. And I did, for a while. Quitting was hard, especially since I had decided to quit for the wrong reasons. My resolve lasted about as long as a high school crush, and then I was back to my old ways.
Along with my unclean language came other bad habits and bad crowds. And when I finally decided to clean up my language, I was engulfed in other sins I needed to clear up. But this time I had decided to quit for the right reasons. Because I wanted to repent. I wanted to be clean in God’s sight, and not just to act ladylike.
Elder L. Tom Perry says if we reconstruct our sentences after we swear, minus the offending word, gradually our thought patterns and speech patterns will change (see New Era, Aug. 1986, 7). Substituting similar words that aren’t really swear words is nearly as bad because everyone knows what we meant to say. We need to replace the bad words or thoughts with something wholesome for this formula to work.
This was no short process. And it was hard—hard to regain control of my life and rebuild my testimony. Speech might seem like a small thing when there are so many other worse things we could be doing. My first offense seemed so innocent at the time. I realize now that the world tries to make sins—regardless of their size—look insignificant, but any sin offends the Spirit. And when the Spirit wasn’t with me, I wasn’t under God’s influence and I grew farther from Him.
Putting my decision into action brought the Spirit back into my life. I could again feel the Lord’s guiding influence, and He helped me with all the other problems in my life when I was sincerely trying.

Years ago, while I was serving as a young bishop, an older gentleman asked to meet with me. He described his departure from the Church and the righteous traditions of his parents when he was in his youth. He described in detail the heartache he experienced during his life while vainly seeking lasting joy amidst the momentary happiness the world has to offer. Now, in his later years of life, he experienced the tender, sometimes nagging whispering sensations of the Spirit of God guiding him back to the lessons, practices, feelings, and spiritual safety of his youth. He expressed gratitude for the traditions of his parents, and in modern-day words, he echoed the proclamation of Enos: “Blessed be the name of my God for it.”

“No one sits alone” also means no one sits alone emotionally or spiritually. I once went with a brokenhearted father to visit his son. Years earlier, the son was excited to become a new deacon. For the occasion, his family bought him his first pair of new shoes.
But at church, the deacons laughed at him and his shoes. His shoes were new, but not fashionable. Embarrassed and hurt, the young deacon said he would never go again to church. My heart is still broken for him and his family. …

One of our favorite lessons was about how the Holy Ghost can guide us. We asked our daughter to go into her room. After we counted to three, she could return to the living room and try to find a picture of the Savior. When she was close, we said that she was warm, and when she was far away, we said that she was cold. She was so excited when she found the picture. It was marvelous seeing her understand the importance of being obedient and following the Spirit in order to be close to our Savior.
We concluded by reading Doctrine and Covenants 11:12. By placing our “trust in that Spirit which leadeth to do good,” we have found family home evening to be a blessing.